Stress overwhelming, unusual for a gorgeous autumn Saturday, I had to get out of the house. I was feeling the easterly direction. So I hopped in the car, plugged in the iPod and Martin Sexton carried me "glory bound" to some northern fork solace. Passing through wine country, I wound up in the old whaling and seaport village of Greenport. I stopped by the Greenport Harbor Brewing Company, newly established in July 2009, for a round of tastes. Their beers are quite delicious and I bought a growler of the Harbor Ale, which I intended to drink amongst friends that night at a dinner party.
I walked down to the harbor, out on the dock, watching the ferry carry passengers over to Shelter Island as the sun slowly set over the water, looking inland.
I walked up to Front Street Station, a restaurant on Front Street where I enjoyed a pint of Greenport's pumpkin beer, Leaf Pile Ale, and a delicious cup of french onion soup. The Suffolk County fire instructor next to me said he fuckin hated the Yankees, but said they deserved the title and he'd give credit where credit's due.
I enjoy the quaintness of this out east sea town. It was a welcome distraction. My sour mood was immediately uplifted as I scaled the lengths of this island singing Martin Sexton in my Nissan Altima, and I was reminded of how easy it is to change one's mood in order to channel more positive energy, as the sun set in front of me, driving back west on the then-ironically-titled Sunrise Highway.
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